Secrets
by Readwriteedit
Summary: Rosy had Anna, Jane had the world, and Batty still confided in the animals that sat on her bed. But Skye was more private, more guarded, and her secrets would go with her to the grave. (Note: I don't own anything.)
1. Crush

It wasn't a crush.

Of that much she was absolutely sure.

Okay, so her heart _had_ sort of stopped that hot September day when she had walked into the chemistry lab and first caught sight of him. And sure, every time he called on her (which was often) a strange sort of warmth began to rise up in her chest.

But it wasn't a crush.

Definitely not.

And if she found herself rushing to get to his class early and staying a bit late to clean the beakers, that was just because she was helpful, not because the teacher was cute and smart and sweet.

He was not cute.

Definitely not cute.

And if it just so happened that her favorite math book was soon replaced by a chemistry book, well, that was just because she was ready for a change or pace. Right?

It wasn't a crush.

Period. End of story.

* * *

It was stupid, really.

It took three years for her to come to terms with the fact that okay, maybe it _had_ been a crush.

As the reality of the situation faded, and was more and more replaced with fond memories of explosions and benson burners, she accepted the fact that no one else had ever made her feel so giddy, so silly.

So stupid.

She blamed it entirely on the fact that she had been 13 and 98% hormones.

But it was stupid, none the less.

And yet, somehow, she couldn't bring herself to be mad. All she could do was smile when no one was looking and try not to babble too much about chemical equations.

Apparently, she was still stupid.

* * *

Years later, she saw him at a conference.

They were colleagues this time. No longer teacher and student, but equals in the field of science.

The weight of her engagement ring on her finger was a constant reminder that she had moved on, that they were nothing more than peers now, and yet she still couldn't keep the smile off her face.

"You probably don't remember me, Mr. Stevens, but my name is Skye Penderwick and I was in your 7th grade chemistry class."

_And no one will ever know that I had a horrible crush on you…_

* * *

_For more stories, click on "Readwriteedit"._


	2. Faith

She was ashamed of it, really.

.

And then even more ashamed that she was ashamed.

.

.

She knew it was illogical and unproven and probably idealistic of her, but she couldn't help but believe.

.

The truth was that there were times when she just couldn't stand alone. Times when her iron-clad exterior melted and she was reverted to age 7, and it was all she could do not to curl up into a ball and sob for her mother.

.

.

And if there was a chance that her mother was safe, a chance that she could see her again, then what choice did she have?

.

She couldn't let that chance slide away.

.

She just couldn't.

.

.

There were nights when she couldn't take it any more.

.

Nights when she would announce that she was going to the library to study, and drive off to the one place her mother still remained.

.

.

Under the guise of the night, she would slip through the heavy wooden doors, and into the warmth and safety of the church.

.

Some nights she would spend hours kneeling in a pew, praying to a God she couldn't prove existed and yet couldn't bring herself to not believe in.

.

.

Because if God didn't exist…

.

If heaven didn't exist…

.

Then Elizabeth Penderwick was truly gone.

.

Forever.

.

And she couldn't bear to think about that.

.

.

And then, after hours of hoping and doubting and wishing with all her heart that someone, _anyone,_ could hear her and answer her prayers, she would light a candle for her mother, and walk back out into the night.

.

.

If her family noticed that she never seemed to bring home any books from the "library," they didn't mention it.

.

What Skye did on Friday nights was her business, and if their mother's bible was looking a bit more dog-eared than usual, it couldn't possibly be because of no-nonsense Skye.

.

The girl who didn't believe in anything.

* * *

_For more stories, click on "Readwriteedit". _


	3. Poetry

She sat there on the hard, cold, ocean-sprayed rocks for what felt like hours, staring at the worn pieces of paper in her hands.

She felt so silly for keeping them—always had, really—more so now than ever.

Break-ups were never easy—this sort harder than any other—but part of recovering meant getting rid of momentos that represented your ex.

And she couldn't bring herself to do it.

The papers in her hands—sonnets he had written—seemed impossibly difficult to give up.

At first she had thought that it was simply because she didn't want to let go of him. It's not like she had wanted to end their relationship, and it hurt that he had been the one to put the kibosh on them.

Leave it to her to fall in love with the one guy in Boston who decided to become a priest.

She wasn't even sure that a God existed, and yet she somehow managed to fall head over heels for a guy who then decided to dedicate his life to that God without any warning. Curse the day she had first stepped into that small chapel on campus.

But he was so kind, so gentle, everything that she wasn't and wished she could be.

And he wrote beautiful poetry.

And so here she was, three months later, wasting away her summer vacation in Maine, mourning the loss of someone she now realized she had never truly had.

* * *

Just as the sun was starting to set, as the sky began to be tinged with that light golden haze that he always claimed was a sneak peak into heaven, she felt a presence behind her, smiling softly.

"Your dad wanted me to ask you if you wanted any dinner."

She couldn't bring herself to turn around, her eyes were glued to the strip of light just over the horizon, but she answered nonetheless.

"No, thanks."

She could feel him moving to sit down next to her, and wasn't at all that surprised when he spoke again. Jeffrey had always had an uncanny sense of when she needed support.

"You okay?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Look, Skye, I know this is hard. But it will get easier, I promise."

"I know."

She was quite for a moment, debating whether or not to tell him what was really on her mind. But he was Jeffrey, and so she opened up.

"That's not even what's really bothering me, though."

"No?"

"No, it's these poems."

"What about them?"

"Read one."

"Okay…"

He took one of the papers from her hands, and began to read it, softly.

_"Mine eyes will ne'er behold which my heart doth see so clearly,_

_Inward stirs this passion, _

_Deep, uniting, _

_Leading my path away from all, _

_And to my love._

"Skye, that's beautiful…"

"Keep reading."

_"I reach out for thee and pray your hand will be there to welcome mine, _

_Your light to illume where my life be spent, _

_For my soul is sore."_

He was quite for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet.

"Skye, I don't get it. That's beautiful…"

She nodded, unable to look at him.

"I know, and I feel so silly!"

"Why?"

"Because, like an idiot, I thought he wrote them about me!"

"Didn't he?"

"No. He wrote them about God. All this time he was trying to tell me that he was going to dedicate his life to his faith, and I didn't even realize it."

Jeffrey just smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Well, think of it this way: You lost him to a better man…"

* * *

Later that night, after dinner was cleared away and everyone was asleep, she once again found herself sitting alone, holding the sonnets.

She had told Jeffrey that she was going to send them back to Greg. He had real talent, and since they weren't about her they probably should go back to their rightful owner.

And yet, somehow, she couldn't bring herself to. Instead, she settled for sliding them in between the pages of her mother's bible, safe for the time being and still close enough for the occasional sneak review.

Because if Jane ever found out that Skye was hoarding poetry—sonnets none the less—she would never live it down, and might as well go join a convent herself.

God save her if that day ever came…

* * *

_I'm really enjoying exploring Skye's spiritual life, if you didn't already pick up on that. :-) I've always thought that she would be the most religious of the bunch, despite her yearn for logical explainations. She is the most passionate of her sisters (once she let's herself go) and though she tries to hide it-and does so quite well-I think her mother's death affected her more than we've seen. Loosing someone early can lead to a strong desire for the existance of some greater being, and I think Skye could very easily be drawn into that. _

_This chapter was really just a bit of development on that idea, as well as a look into how Skye would deal with a breakup, which has always fascinated me. While I think that she would undoubtably put on an angry facade, I also believe that she would be hurt very deeply, because she does feel things so strongly, and is therefore very vulnerable. _

_Just my two cents worth. :-) Hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter should be a bit lighter, I think... :-)_


	4. Flattered

At times, she was furious.

.

At times, she was annoyed.

.

Always, she was flattered.

.

.

Pearson was a nuisance.

.

At his best he was a thorn in her side, at his worst he was her stand-by defense for nuclear annihilation.

.

.

At the sight of his approach, she was flooded by a forceful wave of hatred, disgust, and warmth at the thought of the attention that was yet to come.

.

.

She didn't like him the slightest bit.

.

That wasn't even up for discussion.

.

But—much to her chagrin—she did like the attention.

.

.

There was something about being the object of someone's crush that made a person feel special, feel appreciated, and did wonders for their self esteem.

.

Skye Penderwick was no different.

.

.

Because even though he was a bore, even though he was annoying and disgusting and infuriating and humiliating, he was also something else.

.

He was the first boy to notice her as a girl, and the only one brave enough to—repeatedly—make his emotions known.

.

.

And she was flattered.

* * *

_Come on, girls. Be honest. As much as being someone's crush is akward and embarassing, it feels pretty nice to be noticed, right? And even if that guy is someone like Pearson, well, that feeling doesn't really change... :-) _


	5. Love

Contrary to common belief—to everything that she's ever _let _anyone believe—she isn't afraid that she will fall in love.

.

She's afraid that she will fall in love _too soon_.

.

.

Though it isn't something she talks about or dreams about and certainly not something she giggles about, when she looks ahead at her projected schedule for the next 20 years, she doesn't see herself living all alone, pouring over journals and telescopes all the time.

.

She sees herself married with a few kids, pouring over journals and telescopes when the little ones are napping and her husband is at work.

.

.

She doesn't want love and romance at 11 or 12, like Jane. Everyone saw how well that ended for her.

.

She doesn't want it at 13 or 14, like Rosy.

.

She doesn't even want it at 16 or 17, when all of her friends start going on dates and having boyfriends.

.

.

She wants to live her childhood to the fullest extent possible, and doesn't see how that's possible when kissing and dates are a part of it.

.

.

But at 18, at 19, at 20, she clearly sees herself in love.

.

And though she refuses to get silly and giggly and mushy, she fully expects to find someone who will love her for the rest of her life. Someone she can love back with all of her heart.

* * *

_Most of us want to be loved, eventually, and I really don't think Skye is any different. She is just far to logical to believe in young love. Again, just my two cents' worth. Feel free to disagree. :-)_


	6. Imaginary

She hates imaginary numbers.

.

They are, without a doubt, the stupidest, most pointless, confusing, irritating invention that the mathematical community every put their brilliant heads together to discover.

.

They are the blotched acne on the face of Algebra II, and she would love nothing more than to hurl them into a black hole and never see hide nor hair of them again.

.

.

Not only do they make no sense—how can a number that doesn't exist, that can't be graphed on a normal plane, and that doesn't respond to normal calculations like it should, be part of such a wonderful, _logical_ subject as mathematics.

.

And why can't she understand them.

.

.

If she's being completely honest with herself—which of course, she isn't—then that's really the reason why she hates them with such a passion.

.

She, Skye Penderwick, mathwiz extraordinaire, can't seem to wrap her brain around this _stupid_ concept of a number that isn't really a number and yet somehow is just that.

.

And she hates it.

.

.

For the first time in her life, she has to take notes in math class.

.

For the first time in her life, she has to study.

.

And for the first time in her life she feels like chucking her math book across the room, just to have the satisfaction of seeing it bend when it feels the equal and opposite force of the wall acting upon it.

.

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But she keeps it to herself, somehow.

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Somehow she manages to contain her frustration and anger and struggle and act like this is just another amazing unit in her favorite class.

.

.

Because she is the math girl, the smart one, the one who understands everything.

.

And she has no choice but to keep it that way.


	7. Imperfect

Despite many lectures on the evils of jealously and comparing oneself to her peers, she couldn't deny that she despised her imperfect GPA.

.

.

.

If she had to listen to one more college admissions counselor—"I see here, Miss Penderwick, that you have had straight A's for all of your education, with the exception of Heath. How can you _not_ get an A in Heath?!"—she was going to scream.

.

.

No one should be given a B- in Health just because they boycotted the sex-ed videos!

.

.

.

Even her loving father couldn't seem to understand this lack of scholastic enthusiasm—

"Skye, you've always been excited about science. What happened?"

—though she tried time and time again to make him see the light—

"Look, Daddy, ask me to calculate the birth rates of any developing country any day and I'll do it in a heartbeat; Just don't ask me to watch the process."

.

.

In the era of the Super-human High School Student, when 5.0 GPAs were tossed about with utter thoughtlessness, her one B- was a pox on everything—every form she filled in, every interview question she answered.

.

.

.

And while she knew that it was a statement of her personal beliefs, while she knew she was absolutely right to have stood up for prudishness, she still couldn't help but get mad a the fact that she was the only one of her friends whose academic history wasn't "perfect."

.

.

But what could she say? It was a flaw in the system.


End file.
